‘Trix, you smell of what I can only hope is fish.’

‘It is fish.’

‘Might we ask why?’

‘I wanted a man with wheels,’ Trix said sulkily.

Kelvin slapped himself around the face a couple of times. ‘No!’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m awake now and it still doesn’t make sense.’

‘I wanted a man with wheels,’ Trix said angrily. ‘So I met Paul and he delivers fish, and he’s let use the van after work.’

Not surprisingly, the thought of Trix sitting in all her shiny, happy finery alongside a shoal of fish reduced the office to convulsions.

‘I sit up front with the driver,’ she protested, to no avail. ‘Not in the back with all the fish.’

‘What about your other boyfriends?’ Kelvin asked.

‘Kicked them to the kerb.’

Oh, to be as tough as her, Ashling thought, keying furiously. She was inputting her salsa article. As soon as it was all typed, she gave it to Gerry, who scanned in Joy’s sketches and the photos.

‘I’m going to play around with different typefaces and colour,’ he said. ‘Give me some time, then we’ll show it to Lisa. Have faith, I’ll make it purty.’

‘I trust you,’ Ashling promised. Gerry was an oasis of calm, quiet reassurance, who never seemed to panic, no matter how seemingly obscure or difficult the request.

While she waited, she rang Clodagh. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me about something,’ she said anxiously.

‘I do.’ There was the usual background cacophany. ‘Craig’s off sick, and Molly’s banned again from playgroup.’

‘What’s she done now?’

‘Apparently, she tried to set fire to the place. But she’s only a little girl, exploring the world, finding out what matches do. What do they expect?’ Another wave of bawling issued forth. ‘At least she has a spark of curiosity. But I’m losing my fucking reason here, Ashling.’

That’s what I’m afraid of

‘Which is what I want to talk to you about… MOLLY, PUT THAT KNIFE DOWN. DOWN!!! NOW!!! Craig, if Molly hits you, will you for God’s sake HIT HER BACK!!!… You big Jessie,’ Clodagh breathed, in quiet contempt. ‘Got to go, Ashling, I’ll ring later.’

And Clodagh was gone. So Dylan was right, something was up. Ashling swallowed. Feck it, anyway.

Trying to distract herself, she pressed a few buttons on the computer, her fingers eager when she saw she’d been e-mailed. It was a joke sent by Joy. What’s the difference between a hedgehog and a BMW?

‘I’ve a joke for you,’ Ashling called out to the office in general. Instantly all work was abandoned. It didn’t take much. ‘What’s the difference between –’

‘Heard it,’ Jack Devine barked, striding towards his office.

‘You don’t even know what I’m going to say,’ Ashling protested.

‘With a hedgehog the pricks are on the outside.’ Jack slammed his door.

Ashling was astonished. ‘How did he know?’

‘This is the BMW/hedgehog joke?’ Kelvin asked.

When Ashling nodded, Kelvin explained kindly, ‘It’s been doing the rounds the past couple of days. And as Jack drives a Beemer, he’s been told it quite a lot.’

‘Aahhh. I just thought he’d had another scrap with his girl-friend.’

‘Have you any idea the kind of pressure poor Mr Devine is under?’ Behind her desk, Mrs Morley had risen to her feet (although she looked no taller). Her voice was high with protective anger. ‘He was in negotiations with the technicians’ union until ten o’clock on Saturday night. And this morning he has three executives coming from London, including the group accountant, to discuss very serious matters with him, and none of you care. Although you should,’ she finished ominously.

Even though she was generally viewed as a doom-mongering old boot, her words had a sobering effect on everyone. Especially on Lisa. Still no word on the advertising revenue. Her nerves were cast-iron, but even she was finding this wearing.

Jack came out of his office.

‘They’ve just rung,’ Mrs Morley said. ‘They’ll be here in ten minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ Jack sighed, running his hands distractedly through his tumbled hair. He looked tired and worried and Ashling suddenly felt sorry for him.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee before your meeting?’ she offered, sympathetically.

He turned his dark eyes on to her. ‘No,’ he said, narkily. ‘It might keep me awake.’

Well get lost in that case, Ashling thought, all sympathy gone.

‘Ashling, take a look,’ Gerry invited. Ashling rushed to his screen and was full of admiration for how he’d laid out the article. A four-page spread, which looked colourful, funny, engaging and interesting. The text was broken up into strips and sidebars, and the entire piece was dominated by the erotic photo of the dancing couple, the woman’s long hair sweeping the floor.

He printed it all off and Ashling took it to Lisa, as though it was a sacred offering. Without speaking, Lisa surveyed the pages. Even the expression on her face gave nothing away. The silence endured for so long that Ashling’s excitement started to dampen and turn into worry. Had she got it all wrong? Perhaps this wasn’t what Lisa had wanted at all.

‘Spelling mistake here.’ Lisa’s voice was toneless. ‘Typo here. And another one. And another one.’ When she got to the end she shoved the sheets away and said, ‘Fine.’

‘Fine?’ Ashling asked, still waiting for an acknowledgement of how much work and worry had gone into it.

‘Yes, fine,’ Lisa said, impatiently. ‘Tidy it up, then run it.’

Ashling glared. She was so disappointed she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t to know that this constituted very high praise from Lisa. When employees of Femme were subjected to her screaming ‘Get this piece of shit off my desk and completely rewrite it,’ they used to take it as a tribute.

Then Lisa changed the subject totally when she remembered something. Over-casually, she asked, ‘Hey, who was that man you were with last night?’

‘What man?’ Ashling knew exactly who she was talking about, but was exacting a tiny, petty revenge.

‘Blond bloke, you left with him.’